Down the Valley of Elah
by WaterSoter
Summary: Scott has to rebuild his life on the ashes of his Phoenix possession, the death of the man that was his father in fact if not in blood and the shattering of most relationships he's ever had. Scott is acquitted of the crimes he committed under the influence of the Phoenix. AvX Consequences AU.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This story was written for the 2017 Marvel Big Bang. For the purposes of the bang, this done is complete. I will continue it at a later date since when I was outlining it, it turned into a monster of a story. Some of the chapters will be revised so check for that.

I was to thank my wonderful betas, GrayJay and Cutsycat, I could not have done this without you. :D

*O*O*O*

 _It should be raining,_ Alison Blaire thought, _water to cool some heads down and wash away the unpleasantness of the whole damn thing._ Angry shouts reached her, words that would had made her shrink in shock years ago. Now Alison shrugged them off like a duck water. She'd heard worst things and most hadn't been by pimpled faced, punk wannabes that would had pissed themselves at the sight at Magneto at his most benevolent.

It _should_ be raining. With the thick, dark, angry clouds overhead. Long ropes of lightning bursting through the sky. Loud booms of thunder shaking windows and setting off car alarms. But it wasn't. The skies were obnoxiously clear. The sun shining cheerfully, a few fluffy clouds meandering through a perfectly blue sky. It was almost like the earth itself was showing how it felt about everything. Alison wished it was that simple for her.

She stood outside the courthouse. Extra security. Extra set of eyes and ears and, if it came down to it, an able body. She glanced over the crowd, which spilled far beyond the actual building and into surrounding blocks. The cops and national guard had kept them corralled behind barricades so far, but if things turned ugly, she knew whose backs they'd have.

A gaggle of reporters were clustered in their own special spot. Some were smoking, others, glued to their phones. Trish Tilby tried to get Alison's attention, and got a particularly cold glare back. Alison and Hank might not have kept in touch since Logan's little Judas impersonation, and Alison had as many mixed feelings about him as she did of everyone involved in this mess; but he was still a friend, one of _theirs_. And no matter how much that might seem unfair, Alison didn't much care about fairness. Especially with someone that was very much a bitch with an agenda.

A motorcade of armored cars were at the ready. On one hand, it was an unnecessary risk-they had plenty of 'porters who could have done the job instantly. On the other hand, the message was irresistible: the perfect, "Fuck you!" to not only the entire city, but the world. A victory lap to wherever they were calling basecamp nowadays.

 _Yeah, all hail the conquering heroes_ , she thought, with a bitter twist of her lips. A particularly rowdy group of teenagers were pulled out of the crowd and slammed on the sidewalk. Handcuffs came out, and after a series of curses that would had even Hawkeye taking pointers, the five kids were dragged off.

Alison exchanged a glance with the woman beside her. They looked the part of the security team: black pantsuits, black sunglasses, and earwigs that were mostly for show with telepaths around. No uniforms, no flashy costumes or impractical heels.

 _Just over-enthused prats_ , Elizabeth Braddock told Alison telepathically, with a glance at the teenagers. They had been doing their best to ignore each other since this assignment had begun, which was fine with Alison. Better, at least, than the mounting words that wanted to vomit all over the place. This wasn't the time or the place.

It didn't mean that she didn't want to have it out with Betsy. They had been friends, once. Before this whole mess had started. Back in the day, when they were down to the bare bones and Ororo was doing everything she could to keep them together. To keep it together. She didn't miss those days anymore than she missed the hell that Pax Utopia led to, but she missed the friendships.

 _There's too much broken_ , she thought, as another group of people were pulled out and taken away. She gave another sweep, watched as an anti-mutant punk used his hate spilled sign to brain a pro-mutant woman. That broke out into a brawl with people on both sides throwing insults, punches and a pink vagina? Alison blinked a couple of times but no, she wasn't imagining it. That really was a pink vagina. Stuffed even.

Eck.

There was a sudden hush. The reporters stirred, then rushed forward. Every cop and national guardsman tensed. Alison moved into position, and spotted Sam and Paige Guthrie moving to back her up.

Through the chaos, Alison kept her eyes trained on the crowd, the police, the national guard. Focused on keeping the reporters away. Opening a path to the cars. Above them a couple of the kids were flying recon, too low for Alison's liking. Then they were at the car, and she was sliding into the back seat. Doors slammed, and they were off.

In that time Alison didn't allow herself to think about anything else. She did her part, made sure no one shot them up or blew them up. But in the car with Roberto driving, she braced herself to finally look at the man she hadn't seen in nearly two years, hardly recognizable behind the familiar red glasses.

Scott Summers looked nothing like the imposing leader he had been in Utopia, or the avatar of the Phoenix Force. Shoulders hunched slightly forward, too-long hair falling over his glasses that did nothing to hide the fading bruises: yellow-green across his forehead and face that darkened to horrible black and purple rings where they disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt. He looked like a ghost; he was so pale. It also made the dark circles around his eyes stand out like a neon sign.

He'd lost a lot of weight. Weight that he really didn't need to be losing considering how thin he already was. His cheekbones jutted starkly. She could remember when his suit had been fitted to his every line; now he was practically drowning in it. It was also wrinkled and worn, somewhat out of character for someone as meticulous as Scott was.

Alison looked away. Her stomach clenched and her throat tightened painfully. It wasn't supposed to be this way-the team, the family, broken and scattered. She gripped hard at the seat's handrest. Forced herself to clear her head. She couldn't allow herself to think, not when they arrived at the building or went to the penthouse.

Not when she saw the way Scott flinched away from every touch, kept to the walls and corners. She just kept close, her own mixed feelings oscillating between fury and exhaustion. This was supposed to be a victory, but all Alison could see was blood in the water, and sharks circling them all.


	2. Chapter 2

*O*O*O*

"Unbelievable." Matt Murdock muttered, almost too low for anyone to hear. To his left, Amanda Griffin hid a smirk behind a sip of exceptional champagne. Krug But, if she wasn't mistaken. She had only tasted it once before, after she had settled the Benietti case. It had been as exquisite then as it was now. The taste lingered on her tongue, complemented by the wonderfully ripe strawberries.

"Drink, eat, enjoy." She said in a low voice, watching as a girl with pink hair and colorful wings walked around with a tray of flutes and strawberries. "The champagne is well worth a break to your delicate sensibilities."

Murdock turned his face toward her, mouth pinched in an unhappy pout. _Cute, if you were into complicated; not to mention pathetically easy when it came to lost causes._ "So you think this is a good idea?" He motioned vaguely towards the guests, clustered in groups about the room. She glanced from one colorful mutation to the next, like sorting through a crayon box, until she reached the corner by the window where their client stood, isolated by an aggressively protective security detail.

Scott Summers had seen better days. His handsome face was a mosaic of greens, purples and blues, and he was thinner than even a man dubbed "Slim" should be, swallowed up in that horrific off-the-rack suit that he and Matt had insisted he wear. In theory it was to appear humble as if that was going to win their case. There was a plate in his hand, and three more abandoned on the nearest table, food untouched. And of course that little demon girl was keeping everyone and anything away with a glare that intimidated even Amanda, who had defended serial killers.

Most noticeable was how Summers huddled in on himself, his broken left arm, still in its sling, held protectively over broken ribs. Anyone else would assume that his posture was defensive, defeated. Amanda, who had read his medical file, knew it had more to do with 17 stab wounds that were still healing.

But Amanda wasn't Summers' babysitter. She had done her part, and now she planned to bask in once again achieving the impossible. Her firm had already offered to extend her contract, and there was talk about a possible partnership track. That this entire situation had caused a major embarrassment to the current administration, kicked the Avengers in the teeth and destroyed people's confidence in SHIELD - well, that was just the cherry on top of a very generous sundae.

She wasn't petty, but she had to admit to enjoying the biting headlines, the squirming of officials and high ranking military personnel; and watching as that bitch Pepper Potts ran ragged trying to keep Stark and his investments afloat. That perfect world crumbling at her feet. Amanda took a sip of Krug, savored it. Now Ms. Potts and her ilk would know what that felt like.

"We won a case that no sane lawyer would have taken. Enjoy the victory, Murdock." She bit into a sweet strawberry and made a note to find out where they had gotten their supplies for the party. "I, for one, plan to savor this very expensive champagne before I eat a very large amount of very fattening foods."

A young woman with long, dark hair and coppery skin made her way toward Summers. Amanda thought she recognized her as the X-Man they referred to as Moon, or Mirage, or some other ridiculous codename. The demon girl watched, but did nothing to stop her from reaching Summers.

Matt gave a heavy sigh. His champagne was still untouched, Amanda noticed. "I don't think everyone sees it that way."

Amanda at the few groups clustered as far away from Summers as they could get while still in the same building. She wondered if their open hostility was for Summers in particular, or his merry band of nominally reformed villains in general.

"You didn't honestly believe Summers winning would change anything for most of them?" Amanda had been clear about that from the get-go. She hated unreasonable expectations and there was nothing worse than clients who expected miracles rather than a harsh and bitter pill of reality to swallow.

Matt's wary breath was sharp and frustrated. Amanda hid a satisfied smirk. "Really, Matt, and here I thought you were more realistic than that." She had more than enough exposure to the X-Men these past months. Their entire situation was filled with so much unnecessary and convoluted drama that Amanda would never be able to enjoy any show produced by Shonda Rhimes again.

"I was hoping it would make things easier." Matt said, finally taking a drink of his flute. He stopped, surprise on his face. "Wow, this is better than the stuff Stark usually has." He grimaced as soon as he said the name. Several heads whipped towards them and the temperature in the room seemed to drop.

Yes, she imagined that name, among others, would be taboo among this crowd. "Krug But, 1,800 a bottle." She purposely took a large bite out of another strawberry, felt the glares directed her way. "And Mr. Stark likes expensive things, not necessarily quality."

A curious tilt of the head but he was smart enough to keep his opinions to himself. The girl, Mirage, Moon something, was with Summers now. A new plate handed over despite the stack of plates piled high with untouched food within easy reach.

Murdock shifted, "Not eating?" Amanda sipped at her flute, impressive despite herself.

"We're not his babysitters." But some of his people apparently were. Emma Frost held court on the wrap around sectional, but her attention was on Summers. As was Lehnsherr's, who stood proudly at the center of the apartment. His cold, cold eyes assessing everyone. There were others that Amanda knew by news feeds and of course the formerly famous Alison Blaire.

"Moonshine is attempting to feed him." Badly, since Summers looked like a stiff wind would knock him off his feet.

Matt Murdock smirked down at her, "Moonstar, Dani Moonstone. Codename Mirage." Moonstar, what a name and with all these names and codenames was it ever any wonder anyone got them right in the first place. "She's a good kid."

She supposed she must be as Moonstar waved a girl over and together they forced Summers into a chair. None of the ambivalence in her obvious concern for Summers that others held. Said a few choice words to other kids that had converged on them as soon as Summers sat. A boy with enormous yellow wings flew past the floor to ceiling windows. He glanced at Summers and was waved away by Moonstar.

"I'm surprised he lasted that long," Murdock said, even as Erik Lehnsherr moved further into the apartment, taking quite literally center stage. "Showtime."

Amanda grabbed another flute offered to her and the entirety of the strawberries from a dark skinned boy this time, with no visual mutation like many in attendance. The room fell into a hush and Emma Frost and all those sitting stood, as did a shaky Scott Summers.

"My brothers and sisters," Erik Lehnsherr began with great aplomb, "An injustice has been rectified!"

His voice boomed throughout the apartment, every eye riveted to him. "Today we celebrate a great victory for our people!"

The room erupted into cheers and applause. Amanda felt her smirk grow. Showtime indeed.

Once the clamor died down, Magneto continued. "Two years, two years now when the Avengers, an agent of _this_ government stormed our home, our _sanctuary_ with the sole purpose to quell our rights. To steal the one among us that would restore our people to their former glory."

A bit much, she thought, but the mutants present were clearly of similar way of thinking. Well, almost everyone. There were a few of the more familiar faces that weren't quite as excited by Magneto's speech. Alison Blaire had her arms crossed while Iceman stared out at the impressive floor to ceiling windows. The sun was near setting, leaving a colorful display despite the dozens of buildings blocking the spectacular view.

Warren Worthington III had his wings folded over his shoulders like a cape, face set into an impassive expression. There were others but these three seemed to represent a more dissenting mood in the room.

"These self-proclaimed heroes, who had never raised a _word_ in our defense, dared to impose upon us their laws, their justice to what was nearly the end of us all. To the unjust incarceration of our leadership." Here he paused, a sombre timbre in his voice, "to the death of he who would dream of our place among the humans."

"Son of a bitch!" Matt muttered lowly, but the anger there was very sharp and real.

The entire room was in rapt silence, and more than one person glanced at Scott Summers who had straighten in what was clearly a painful manner. Charles Xavier. Haloed, tragic hero. Amanda had many opinions of Xavier but hero was hardly one of them. She glanced at Summers and saw his face close off at the mention of Xavier. Despite it all, he would be one more that would be wholly devoted to Xavier.

"But despite it all, we are triumphant. Today we finally gain a semblance of justice, and those that would oppress us now know that we will not be silent nor silenced. We will fight and we will win!" The tone of the room lifted but Amanda wondered about that. Lehnsherr was a master at manipulation and so far Amanda hadn't see anything from the man that would change her mind about that.

"Today we are not a people on our knees, but a people that stands proudly and proclaims to the world that we will not be victimized any longer!"

Everyone once again erupted in cheers, and even some of the more skeptical among them seemed to be swayed to Magneto's views. But not all agreed she thought as she saw Iceman stalk out of the room. Worthington following at a more sedate pace.

Then Lehnsherr stepped back and motioned over to Summers who looked ready to drop. Demanding, expectant and waiting. For a moment Amanda thought Summers wouldn't go. Would sit back down and ignore everything that had happened around him like he had done with most of the trial when he hesitated. But no, of course not. Scott Summers was a man of responsibility and guilt. He would do what was expected of him until it killed him and even then . . .

He took a step forward and several hands made motions to catch him when he went down. But instead of falling on his face, he shoved shoulders back, painfully and walked forward to take his rightful place by Magneto's side. A moment later Frost joined them.

No speeches were needed, Amanda knew. With them presenting a united front was enough for many there. The past, the present and the future of mutantkind in these three people. But no, not in three people, as Frost and Magneto stepped back every so slightly, leaving Summers to take centerstage.

Beside her Matt Murdock clenched his fists. The demon girl glared. Moonstar crossed her arms and the room as a whole watched and accepted. Amanda bit into a deliciously ripe strawberry, drank from excellent wine and ignored the unseen weight that seemed to settled on Summers' shoulders like a death shroud.

* * *

 **A/N:** For those of you going, huh, Amanda Griffin is my OC. :D


	3. Chapter 3

*O*O*O*

There was fire at a distance. Hungry flames rising higher and higher in the sky. Reaching to him, for him. It was alright. These flames wouldn't hurt him. A part of him knew that, while the rest recoiled like from a rattlesnake about to bite.

The earth around them was filled with rubble. That . . . wasn't good. It wasn't good that he be there either. But he couldn't remember why that was. Not now. He couldn't leave, though. This was the place, the spot he needed to be. Where the rivers of lava rose harmlessly from the ground. Fireflies of yellow, red and orange painting the ground black.

"It's beautiful." The familiar voice was welcome, always welcome as she stepped between heat that would burn shear skin off. She passed harmlessly by. As it should be, a deep, dark voice spoke from the recess of his mind. "I always wondered what this would look like."

Her colors were red and gold and she wore them well. Scott smiled and reached for her and she did him. When they connected it was like a missing part of himself had finally come home. "Jean." He whispered and held that deceptively fragile body close. Warm, fitting just the way it always did before against his.

"I missed you." Her breath brushed against his neck, tickled against his jaw, his earlobe. "I missed you, Scott." She said again, hands gripping tightly at the back of his uniform. Bringing them even more together until not even air could pass between their bodies.

He wanted nothing more than to melt against that body. Against his first love. Nose buried in rusted hair, familiar scents of ashes and lilies. Death and life. But that power wasn't Jean. Jean and Phoenix were two separate entities no matter what others might have been led to believe and in his arms he didn't know which he held but he knew which one he wanted.

"Jean, come back." He whispered against her ear, felt her shudder against him. Pulled back and the eyes looking back at him were gold inferno and not banked green fury. "Jean." But Jean wasn't there if she had ever been in the first place.

"Phoenix." He said instead, pulled back more but suddenly sharp fingernails dug into his arms, drawing blood. The warning clear. "What do you want?" He said, even as columns of lava burst from the ground. He could just make out screams in the distance.

Phoenix ran a gentle hand down the side of his face. A razor sharp smile etched into ruby dark lips. "You left me." She said, her voice reverberating inside her chest. Deeper than anything a normal human throat should be capable of producing. "I didn't like it."

Gentle hands turned hard, slowly burying themselves in his skin, drawing thick rivulets of blood. Scott didn't move, held perfectly still. Knew that it would be worse if he struggled. "I didn't have a choice." The first ignited, wings erupting from her body as the Phoenix forced them to manifest. "Phoenix -"

"You shouldn't have done it." The ground began to shake and more voices screamed, snuffed out with each passing moment. "You should have stayed with me."

The professor ran towards them, Hope and Wanda and the rest of the X-Men, Avengers, Fantastic Four at his back. Burning as they came closer. Their bodies nothing more than piles of burnt uniforms and scorched bones. "NO!" He reached for her but his hands burn as he touched the flames. "Stop, please, stop."

But she didn't. The Phoenix bird grew and grew to implausible proportions. Charles, God, Charles came close, reaching for him, to rip him out of its clutches but he burned, they all burned. Everything burned. Utopia. San Francisco. The United States. The World.

He struggled but she only held on tighter. The only thing still intact in a dead planet. Watched as it spread like a virus through stars, eating it all and wiping out anything in its way until there was nothing left. Until she looked for anything else to eat and Scott was all that was standing in its way.

A relief if she would ignite him too, but instead she gripped his shoulder, painfully tight, his hands miraculous untouched. "Scott," She said in the echoing darkness, tone powerful and imperious, "Wake up!"

And Scott awoke with a shout. Fighting at the hands on his shoulders, at the intruder in his mind. He lashed out with his hands, with his mind, with anything he was able to. Loud roaring in his ears, cold, cold, cold.

Suddenly pain on his cheek and the world became a sea of faces. Scott stilled. Blinked at a woman that could have been Jean's clone but wasn't. "Rachel?" He rasped, his voice heavy with sleep.

Rachel's hair was longer than he last remembered with a uniform that seemed like a yellow on red version of his old one. The red coat was familiar as was the hound marking on her face. She leaned over him on the bed, while Warren held one shoulder and James the other.

After a moment they all backed off, with Rachel sitting at the edge of the bed, looking behind him. Scott turned and saw that the windows were shattered, slanted rain pelting down on them for a second before a telekinetic shield kept it out. A quick glance revealed that the room was in a similar order. Broken lamps, scattered books, shelves pulled out of their cubbies.

"Wha," He started but then a wing curled around him and it was then that Scott realized that he was shaking. Badly. His skin so cold he hardly feel the feathers brush against his arms. A blanket was quickly thrown over his shoulders and he was led into the insanely large shower where a tube large enough for ten people could comfortably fit.

The bath was already being run. Warm vapor dispersing the worst of the cold. Nemesis forced his shirt off, mindful of broken ribs, arm and stab wounds. Pants and underwear followed and he was in the bath, hissing as warm water hit chilled skin.

Nemesis next to his, shining a light into his bare eyes. Something about that was wrong but he just couldn't put a finger on it. "Scott, do you know where you are?"

Scott glanced at the bathroom. Warren was leaning against a wall, face as impassive as he'd ever seen it. James Proudstar hovered by the doorway, glancing at something in his room. Rachel's, Dani's and Alison's voice blending in a heated argument.

"Utopia." Where else would he be. He waited for Emma to make pointed comments about the state of their bed, but there was nothing in his mind. He was alone in his own head. Nemesis poked and probed at bruises and cuts. Scott hissed at a particular tender bruise.

After he was finally warm, Warren and James helped him stand on shaky legs. That wasn't right either but as soon as the thought filtered through it dissolved as if a soap bubble. Clothed in warm clothes, his windows covered in some translucent glob. It weaved and waved with the force of the storm, the New York skyline highlighted with each burst of lightning.

Everything had been cleared, though not replaced. His sheets and blankets changed. Gently, Warren helped Scott under covers. Rachel brushed a few stray locks from his forehead before placing someone over his eyes that made everything go red.

He curled around his arm, getting comfortable despite his injuries. He waited for that familiar presence but didn't feel anything. "Where's Jean?" Probably a mission, he thought as sleep descended on him like a soft curtain. Missing the worried look exchanged between Warren and Rachel. Or the touch to his mind that let him slip into slumber.

Nemesis fiddled with a machine next to the bed, brain waves displayed in a large screen. He said nothing as Rachel took a chair next to her father. Warren stood by the shattered window and didn't comment on the singed clothes or white wings caused by a fire that should be long dead.


	4. Chapter 4

*O*O*O*

A hundred and twenty-two stories above the streets was not a place anyone should be comfortable at. With the tiny lights below, moving people and cars, trucks, taxis; life. How many of them rushing home, rushing to work, rushing to meet friends or lovers? How many others lost among the horde. One more face among thousands, forgotten, lost.

Dani sipped her cold coffee. Grimacing at the taste. She could be one of those faces. Friends, a regular job, a boyfriend, maybe. Before her powers, she would have been encouraged for one guy above another, one family above another. In their small community, Dani would have had expectations, her family would have had expectations and she would have done what she was told like the dutiful child of the tribe.

If not for her powers, she would be married, with at least two children by now, working on the only shop in their entire reservation, wearing the same jeans everyone wore, the same shirts, the same hairstyles.

On days like today Dani wondered if that wasn't the better option. That life that could have been hers but never would be. Her very own what if. She glanced over at the newspaper as it fluttered with a sudden gust of wind. The headline tall and bold, inescapable even at a distance. The photo larger than life, color muted, like the second part of a one-two punch.

Dani slapped a hand down on it to keep it in place, glanced back at the inky sky. With its spread of stars sparkling like tiny diamonds on a velvet canvas. The night was quiet. Despite the noise rising from the city, there was a kind of stillness that she didn't like.

There was a splash of blue and gold out of the corner of her eye. Dani looked over but it was only Sam and some kid with reptilian skin the color of rust doing a fly by and not an Avenger breaking their unspoken agreement. Both sides stayed on their sides of the city and supposedly kept the peace, between them at least. After yesterday Dani wasn't counting on them keeping to that.

Sam waved at her, slowing as he passed. The kid flapped dragon wings to match Sam, but hid behind Sam. Head down, eyes averted before they both took off to do their usual rounds. She hoped they wouldn't run into any of the Avengers but she wasn't holding her breath.

Another two kids passed her, heading deep into the heart of the city. Dani frowned. When a group of three shot past at neck breaking speeds, Dani checked her communicator to make sure it was working. Not that they needed them with telepaths, but after the past week, no one was taking any changes.

Nothing.

Her stomach churned, a cold lump forming. She tried reminding herself that if there was anything happening, she would be among the first to know. That, even if not as visible as her and the aerial patrols, there was enough security to stop the invasion of Normandy cold. Erik made sure of that.

Still.

Two more kids passed her. Their sense of urgency clear in the flap of wings and the push for speed in the sharp angle of their bodies. Dani stood, watched them fade. She grabbed her communicator, placed her hand over her mouth and hesitated. A telepath would be more secure. In a world of people like Stark, Pym, and Richards among others, a telepath would be the only secure line of communication they had anymore.

She focused on Betsy first, when there was no responding mental touch, on Rachel. _I need to talk to Sam._ She thought, and felt that familiar combination of warm embers and tempered inferno then a snap and twist that was the telltale sign of an open connection. _Sam?_

 _Dani?_

She kept her mind calm like a summer's breeze as her attention stayed on the sky and the buildings in her line of sight. _Yes, what's going on, Sam?_

A screech behind her and Dani had her knives in hand. A constant after being depowered after M-day. She blinked at the red hair turned a deep purple in the silvery light. Then she tensed as a familiar if long missed face came up behind her.

Dani forced her mind to retain its careful calm or she risked shoving her turbulent emotions on Sam, who certainly didn't deserve them. _A giant squid is making it's way up the Hudson._

A breath then, _What?_

 _It's real loony but it doesn't look like it's trying to eat anyone._ Rachel stepped forward, her normally green eyes glowing a slight gold. _I think it's stealing suits from some boutique._

Dani didn't think back anything right away. She really needed a moment to wrap her head around _that_. She had dealt with alien invasions, godlike creatures, immortals and more crazy than she could ever count. But this was beyond even all that.

 _The Avengers are here._ Dani closed her eyes, that was the last thing they needed. _Don't engage, Sam. Make sure everyone gets the message. If the Avengers want to take care of it, let them._

She could feel Sam wanting to buck at that and couldn't blame him. But there was so much more at stake than bruised egos and simmering animosity. Sam knew it and from Rachel's clenched jaw, she knew it too.

Everything felt like such a compromise lately. Like they were chipping away at their resolve, their identity just so they could continue to have the public's waning support. A fickle public that at any time could turn on them as easily as the Avengers had and the government had and so many other people that they had counted as friends and allies and supporters.

In that, she missed the old Scott. The Scott who told the world to screw themselves and build an island sanctuary and faced down the entirety of the superhero world on the slim chance that one stupid, self-centered, stubborn, surprisingly brave girl could save them all.

She wanted that Scott to make Emma link him to Sam, have him order them to do what they needed and always be five steps ahead of their enemies except the one moment it had counted beyond the ones before. She wanted the leader of the X-Men. Fearless, a stalwart for their people and a battering ram to the rest.

Not that zombie that shuffled from room to room, as if he didn't know where he was half the time and the other half couldn't believe any of it was real. The one that stayed in his room for hours at a time, staring at nothing that any of them could hope to see without invading his privacy more than it had already been. Dani had never been more grateful for the lack of telepathy than at that moment. She had seen the scars, the ones that were still healing and those that were a map of his time in jail.

Rachel's eyes went back to normal, but they remained focused on distant, faraway places. In that moment and despite her uncanny resemblance to her mom, she looked so much like Scott did nowadays that Dani resisted to urge to shake her. If only to wipe that look off her face. Instead she sheathed knives, careful to slide them back into place. Her attention once again on the skyline.

Nothing had changed. For now she let herself breathe a little easier. Behind her she heard footsteps fade away, the roof door open and close. Lock, latch and beep as Madison Jeffries' insane security system reengaged.

She felt eyes on her back and knew who she would see if she turned around. Nate Grey. Bangs made silvery by the moonlight. No longer with that awful shorn. Fuller, healthier face instead of that horrible gaunt thinness etched deeply in every sharp line of his face.

"Dani . . ."

"I thought you were dead." She swallowed back a barrage of things that wanted to jump out of her mouth and beat him to it. "Two years, Nate. Two years and not a word. Not a phone call, not a letter. I would have settled for a smoke signal instead of thinking that you were dead and that it was somehow my fault."

Those had been pretty terrible times. Anyone connected to Utopia that had not sided with the Avengers on that final battle, hunted down, unless they threw themselves under the mercy of Logan and his school. Counting heads and coming out short. Few people to turn to and fewer even that could be trusted.

Dani didn't miss those days. She didn't miss the nomadic lifestyle trying to stay one step ahead of SHIELD and the Avengers. "We looked for you. It was hard, with SHIELD and the Avengers on us but we looked for you."

She watched as Sam shot through the sky along with the rest of the team that had followed him out to the Hudson. None of them looked hurt and their uniforms weren't torn or singed. All good signs.

Dani turned around, he was rubbing the back of his neck in an eerie familiar gesture. How many times had she seen Scott do that when he was at his most awkward? A telling gesture that had all but disappeared after M-day and was frequent since his acquittal.

"Are you at least going to tell me where you where all this time?" Nate shifted in place, shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. For someone that had never been raised by either of his genetic donors, he looked so much like Scott it was almost surreal. Just as the way his blue eyes shifted and his eyebrows furrowed made him look like Nathan though that at least made more sense, since genetically they were the same person even if they had been born in different realities.

"I needed time." Came the lame response. Dani whipped around, bit her lip hard enough to leave teeth marks, hands clenched into fists over her legs. "Dani, after everything, I just wanted to . . ."

Dani could imagine him waving his hands in the air. Trying to encompass everything he meant with a single gesture. And it wasn't as if Dani didn't understand. After Utopia fell, after Scott and Emma were jailed, Dani wanted nothing more than to disappear into the sea of anonymity. Pretending that there was no one counting on her, that she didn't have responsibilities. There was and she did and unlike others, she didn't have that luxury.

"You could had let me know." Utopia had been burning, the _world_ had been burning and still Roberto, Amara, James and even Clarice, who hardly owed her anything had made sure Dani knew they were alive and safe.

Dani sighed, deeper this time. What a mess. She felt the familiar flare of anger at Logan and Hank, at the Avengers, mostly she just felt tired. Their family was shattered beyond repair and it had taken someone trusted to rip them apart and leave them bleeding in the sand.

"I was angry too," She said. Two kids few at a distance in the usual patrols. She would never get tired of seeing unfamiliar faces sharing their genetic quirk. "At Scott. I was so angry I couldn't even think."

Nate's brows furrowed, and he was quiet for a long while. "But you're here."

Dani shrugged, reached for her disgustingly cold coffee and nearly jumped when a thermos was thrust into her face, without the aid of hands. She sent an inquiry look at Nate but he just looked away, placed a plate piled with sandwiched between. Dani eyed them cautiously, hoping that Nate hadn't tried his hand at cooking again. The disaster of last time still resonated unpleasantly in her stomach.

"Scott's not perfect." She took a cautious bite and was surprised that it not only was edible, but tasted really good. "I think sometimes we forget that."

Nate watched her for a long moment then sat down, his feet dangling over the side as if one wrong move would plunge him to his death. Or maybe not. She opened the thermos to deliciously warm coffee. "Your powers?"

He shrugged, and didn't say anything more. His eyes locked on the kids flying in a designated pattern around them and the surrounding buildings. A sort of wonder fell on his healthier face. Yeah, Dani got that only too well.

Off the horizon, the first glimpses of a false dawn began to brighten the sky. Dani ate sandwiches and drank coffee. They sat in silence, too many questions and years between them but for the moment Dani was okay letting it go. There would be time, now, there would be time. Nate was alive and Dani didn't know how to feel about a lot of things but for now, they could sit back and enjoy watching as their people flourished.


	5. Chapter 5

*O*O*O*

Illyana Rasputin observed the small boy as his lips turned blue and his pasty skin took on a grayish tint. It wouldn't be long now, she thought dispassionately. Too used to death to be bothered by this child's, even as Noriko Ashida kept her eyes averted and David Alleyne hunched in on himself.

Dr. Reyes pressed on the small chest, breathed into his mouth in a steady rhythm. Beyond their small circle James Proudstar held tightly onto the mother who all but tried to lunge at the father, shouting the kind of language that was impressive in its originality. There were certainly several words in there that Illyana had never heard before.

The father, shoved to the other side of the living room, stood defiant in the face of her anger. His face and arms covered in scratches. Some were long and bleeding sluggishly, others were small, barely skin deep. It was easy to see which ones were done by whom, his wife in a rage and his son fighting for his life.

Elizabeth Braddock was keeping the man in place and far away from the son who he had tried to murder, and might yet succeed, and the wife who wanted to murder him in turn. And because the situation wasn't bad enough, two Avengers stood by the door, despite the situation being a mutant issue and therefore none of their business.

"He's not going to die." Surge whispered to Prodigy, who had his fists clenched so hard his knuckles were white. She imagined he was considering doing the mother a favor and dealing with the father himself. If it were Illyana, she would have let the mother go and let her visit as much justice as she was able to on the father. She certainly deserved the opportunity. If the child died Illyana thought Jimmy might even slack his grip just enough to say she got away from him despite his super strength.

"C'mon, kiddo, c'mon, breath for me." Dr. Reyes muttered as she did compressions. Off in the distance sirens wailed, coming closer with each passing second, but they would be too late for the child. The father might even be let go with barely a slap in the wrist. It wasn't as if she hadn't seen it before. It was why their teams were put together.

Search and rescue teams instead of sticking solely to defense and combat. Scott's plan, when he was still himself and not . . . _whatever_ it was he was now. Teams to look for mutants, help them if they needed it, offer them somewhere to go if they had nowhere else, save them if their own family, parents tried to murder them for being what they were.

It worked so far. Illyana had been for two outright rescues and one awkward conversation as the newly emerged mutant and his fiancé decided if she wanted to be with him. This would be her first death. Not the first their teams had dealt with, but it will be the first she was personally there for.

She glanced around the room, it was a nice place, she supposed. A cheery yellow on the walls, couches with afghans thrown carelessly over the backrest and cushions. Stairs that rose towards one side of the main door. The wall leading up to the second floor was covered in photos. Happy moments with and of their son.

Illyana wondered what the father saw now, after learning that his precious son was a freak. What he would see when he looked at those photos now? Would he think back on those memories with a melancholy air? Or would he see them and feel nothing. Crow that he had stopped his blood from being tainted.

A drop of sweat fell on the boy's face. Dr. Reyes' arms were shaking from the effort of continuing CPR. She exchanged a glance with Elizabeth and saw the same grim resignation in her eyes. The Avengers shifted, Illyana turned towards them. One of them had a very familiar face.

Hawkeye had his bow in his hand at his side, seemingly in a relaxed grip but Illyana could see the tension in his arms, the way his eyes shifted from the boy, Braddock and her. At the ready in case Illyana suddenly decided that she wanted to burn the world away after all.

Their eyes locked and she could see that he remembered what it felt like to burn. Saw it in the sudden perspiration gathering in his forehead and sliding down his nose. The way his adam's apple bobbed and the muscles in his neck bunched up tight. She expected him to cower, to break eye contact and shuffle closer to his fellow Avenger. Instead his eyes became electric fire, glared at her as fiercely as a demon's at their prey.

Illyana approved.

If they were to be enemies, she didn't want to strike at someone so cowed by their remembered pain to fight back.

The door burst open but the police officers had some sense not to point their guns at them. Whether that was because the Avengers had warned them off or not, Illyana appreciated that this wouldn't end in one of those barbed headlines. If for no other reason that she didn't want the lectures even if Emma would smirk at her in that dark way that was more White Queen of the Hellfire Club than the White Queen of the X-Men.

The older of the two shuffled over to the Avengers, exchanging words in low tones. Pretty useless in a room with a mutant with heightened senses. What interested her was the way the younger officer was eyeing the boy, almost like it pained him to see someone that young dying by inches and be unable to do anything about it. Not a reaction that she was used to seeing in relation to any of them.

"C'mon, c'mon!" Dr. Reyes muttered, still trying the improbable and at that point, pointless. She almost wanted to tell her that she was wasting her energy on a corpse. Instead she stood and watched as the father was placed in handcuffs, none too gently, and led outside. The father as silent as he had been the moment their team had set foot in their home. The mother on the other hand had collapse in Jimmy's arms. A sobbing and begging mess, no longer lunging for her husband, reaching for her son.

Illyana wondered if her own mother had reached for her in those final moments, when she was out of sight and they laid bleeding in the snow. She shook her head. It didn't matter. She stood by Dr. Reyes, eyes locked on the happy pictures. The mother's sobs and Dr. Reyes' words blending into a dissonant sort of lullaby.


	6. Chapter 6

*O*O*O*

Night was both a refuge and a prison to Scott. A refuge since more of the normal traffic that ran through the penthouse dispersed to places unknown. A prison because it meant sleep, and sleep was chains around his neck, red hot and burning until his skin and mind melted away.

Scott ran his fingers against the cool glass. Murky with a thick layer of ice. Crystalline snow had gathered at the edges and beyond that a blanket of white that extended well beyond the terrace and over the ledge. He was almost tempted to push the doors open. Step into that bitter cold and let the snowdrifts pile onto him like a breathing, living park sculpture.

It had been too long since he'd be outside. Breathed natural air and felt the sun on his face unfiltered by windows and curtains. His days spent in his room, away from the constant horde of people, and nights in a drugged stupor or caught in a torrent of dreams that he could never remember.

The television flickered like strobe lights. Bathing the living room in a kaleidoscope of colors. Scott watched its reflection through the glass. The talking heads and headlines streaming across the bottom. He'd read it all and for tonight, no fires needed putting out and no mutants were being hung out to dry by a ratings hungry media.

Scott let his head rest against the chilled glass, glad for it as it seeped into his skin and chased away the fever that seemed perpetually under his skin. Most everyone was sleeping, but Scott had seen the sliver of light under several doors. Outside the usual patrols kept to their routines like clockwork. He was going to have to do something about that. But now that he thought about it, Scott wasn't sure if already had.

The days and months felt so much like trying to hold on to water in his hand. Memories little more than wisps of vapor, there one moment and gone the next. He could have said something about that. Yesterday, the day before, the _week_ before. Routines shifted and adjusted to be more unpredictable, less vulnerable to keen eyes looking for a crack in their security.

Scott didn't know.

Wouldn't even if he went up and asked directly. They all thought they were protecting him, and maybe they were. But Scott needed to know. Needed to find some way out of this fog he'd fallen into and he had no lifeline. Not when everything was a potential landmine that could send him under again. Drag him into that world were he existed as little more than a wraith, a ghost slithering among the living.

A door opened and closed somewhere down one hallway. Another opened and closed. Scott let his eyebrows raise, but refused to let his imagination get into the whys and the whos. Most of the people in the apartment were adults, young adults, but at least over the age of eighteen. Whatever and _who_ ever they decided to do was very much their own business.

Outside, the familiar sound of beating wings was loud in the silent terrace and echoed through the glass doors. Scott caught a distorted glimpse of blue and Warren's golden hair turned silver in the moonlight. He had gotten a glimpse of Warren in the past months, always with his back turned, on his way out and away.

Scott considered his options. He could leave. Go back to his bedroom. Work his way through the newspapers Dani had brought in before her shift. But he remembered that Rachel fast asleep on a love-seat someone had dragged in there. Profoundly enough that she didn't notice he'd left. Deep, dark shadows under her eyes marking how little sleep she had gotten in the past months.

Guilt was a sharp slash across his gut. He could imagine how many nights she'd been awake, with him since his acquittal. Certainly a surprise, to have seen her at their doorstep, bags packed and a defiant look on her face that was such a reminiscence of Jean it had made his chest hurt. Since then she hadn't left his side. They shouldn't have allowed it but Rachel was his kid through and through and stubbornness was in her blood as much as her red hair and green eyes.

A beep as the locks were disabled and Scott gripped at his arm, just above the white bandage that went from elbow to wrist. The stitches pulling uncomfortably. The doors burst open and flurries of snow drifted inside then closed and locked. The night's cold air a sharp knife against Scott's thin nightshirt from his spot to one side of the terrace doors.

Warren Worthington looked very much his namesake. His wings curled around his back, hair shorter than the last time he saw him. The shadows bringing out the sharp angles of his face. His uniform was the one he had worn during his time in Utopia but with a darker shade to it. He shook moisture off his wings, not caring of the mess he was making of the glass and furniture. A hint of his upper class arrogance shining through. Then he ran a hand through his hair and Scott saw the exhaustion in every line of his body.

Scott stayed by his spot next to a column and let the darkness hide him from view. Watched as Warren headed over to the kitchen. The refrigerator's light like a spotlight in the darkness of the apartment. He rummaged and pulled a few things out. Scott almost went over then. But he wasn't exactly sure of his reception.

Bobby had been there the day he was acquitted but hadn't returned, as far as he knew. Hank had all but disappeared. Warren was the only one that was a constant at this sanctuary and Scott was leery of shaking that steady foundation.

Not that it mattered, as a moment later, Warren glanced up from the island and his bird eyes spotted him as surely as if he had been in plain daylight and clear view. He froze halfway to opening a large container. He glanced at the living room, the television as if seeing it for the first time.

Scott thought he'd grab the container and make a hasty retreat, instead he put a few things away, leaned against the counter. A fork in hand, taking bites from what looked like the leftover lasagna. His attention was completely drawn on what he was doing. With his face and eyes lowered almost to his chest.

 _I should go,_ Scott thought. He knew he still made people uncomfortable. Those that had been there, and those that hadn't but had heard enough. A blaze pouring into him, from him until all he could see was an inferno spread like an ocean on the ground and the sky. Out of the corner of his eyes, something slithery and black emerged, like ink suspended in the air, a lick of orange and red flames outlining a female frame.

Scott closed his eyes, breathed deeply. Forced his hands into fists, pressed them against his thighs as they shook violently. He leaned back against the windows, his legs like jello and barely holding him up. The scream was so loud in his head as a body became ashes down to his bones. The smell of burnt flesh smell overwhelming.

 _C'mon Summers,_ he thought as his heart pounded a tattoo in his chest. _Calm down!_

But he couldn't. No matter how much he breathed, how hard he clenched his fists. Felt warmth slide from between his fingers. _Blood,_ he thought, and wondered what they would say of another injury he couldn't explain.

Then it faded in a plume of smoke. Scott blinked, expecting flames and burning but instead the apartment was as quiet as it had been. Warren's blue eyes intent on his face, his arms on Scott's shoulder, gripping almost painfully.

"Hey, easy." Warren muttered when Scott jerked, as if an electric wire had been pressed to his side. The shock of it racing through his body and leaving it shaky and weak. "You're okay."

Scott shook his head almost violently. There was something, something at the back of his head he knew he should be doing first, but at the moment couldn't think what it was. Behind Warren was Rachel, intense and pensive, the residual of golden flames caressing the air around her.

He jerked his head around but there was nothing else. There should be, he knew that, he thought he knew that, he didn't think he knew anything anymore.

Warren put too warm hands on his neck, and Scott realized how cold he was. His body shook to try and regain some heat. A moment later an afghan was thrown over his shoulders, Warren wrapping him up like an oversized burrito. There was something tight around his eyes, lines that hadn't been there before, around the line of his shoulders, his mouth.

They were becoming old men before their time. Scott could trace every major event in his life, every loss by the map of lines and scars of his body. He wondered if Warren felt the same, if Bobby, if Hank. If the dream that was meant to bring hope and inspiration was really a poisoned dagger, rotting them away from the inside out.

He ran a hand through his hair. The sharp sting of the cut on his arm a reminder to be careful of popping stitches. Warren let go but stayed crunched in front of him and with a start Scott realized that he had slid down to the ground at some point.

"We should get him to bed." Rachel said, arms at her sides. Her hands curled into tight fists. "You need to rest." She said, to him this time.

Scott shook his head, he didn't need sleep. Glanced at the room again but didn't see that inky shadow. That was good. "I'm okay." He tried to get up but his legs couldn't hold him. Warren took him by the arm and Scott was able to stop a flinch. "I'm okay."

"Should we get Nemesis?" Warren led him to one of the chairs nearby. It was an artsy thing with a metal frame and could had been used by the Spanish Inquisition as a torture device. "Or maybe Cecilia. I don't know which of them is in tonight."

Rachel crossed her arms. "Dr. Reyes is out on a mission." She said, with a sharp undertone and as vague as she could be, as if Scott hadn't been the one to set up the Search and Rescue teams. She focused, her eyes going distant for a moment. "He's on his way. We should get him to his room."

There was no more discussion, even if Scott didn't want to go. Warren took his arm, led him through the living room and to the hallway that led to his bedroom. Rachel behind them, whether to make sure he didn't make a break for it or to watch their backs, he wasn't sure.

The door opened and Scott froze at the doorway. The bed was large and comfortable, the sheets strewn around in a messy pile. He shouldn't have left it like that. It felt wrong and right and left an itch beneath his skin. He almost scratched at it but stopped himself at the last moment. Gripped his arm at the wrist, above the bandages.

"Scott?" Scott took a deep breath, forced himself over the threshold, Warren with his unyielding grip. He didn't try to pull away, didn't think he wouldn't fall flat on his face without the help. Let him sit down at the edge of the bed, pathetically helped him remove shoes he hadn't noticed were on his feet.

"I'll get some socks." Like a child that Scott hardly remembered being, Rachel helped put them on then made him lay down on the bed. Pulled the sheets up to his chin. A routine that was becoming too natural for him to be comfortable with it. "Do you want a glass of water?" She asked but was already making her way to the bathroom of his suite.

Laying there, staring at the white ceiling, he said, "I'm not child." In case there was any doubt. His behavior wasn't exactly that of an adult but he didn't think it merited the babying. "I could have put my own socks on."

Warren raised a single blonde eyebrow, some humor curling his mouth, sparkling in his eyes, pointing a thumb at the bathroom he said, "Yeah, tell that to Florence Nightingale over there." He sobered right away, frowned at his nightstand where the cluster of medicine bottles covered it. "Nemesis should be here soon."

 _To drug me,_ Scott thought resentfully, feeling the all too familiar fog descend onto his mind. Would he remember any of this? Or would it be just another fragment that became lost in the chasm his head had become.

He closed his eyes and when he opened them he caught the familiar presence in his room. Flames and a brilliant light that made something in him unwind. Scott watched her walk towards him, past the bathroom and Rachel. Warren who didn't see her and down until they were nose to nose. Felt gentle hands push back his hair, run down to his cheek.

There was a prickle in his eyes, "I don't want him to drug me." He told her. He wanted his mind back, his life back. Instead of this half life that melted day and night until weeks had passed and he had no memory of any of it.

Warren shifted, looking uncomfortable, "You need them, Scottie." He said softly. There was an undercurrent of something Scott couldn't put his finger on. "They'll make you better."

 _No they won't,_ Scott was fading. Darkness at the edges of his vision. Jean smiled at him, her hand still on his cheek. Her eyes held understanding, and Scott missed her so much that it was like a creature constantly carving at his insides.

"I just want it to stop." He whispered, at Jean, at Warren, at whatever this was that held him in a place where he couldn't go back or forwards. He was a specter, a phantom that haunted the lives of past friends and family. A lost boy in a lost land and he wanted to go home. Somewhere where the world didn't shift and warp. Something solid beneath his feet.

"Yeah," Said Warren as Rachel came into the room and Jean stayed with him until Dr. Nemesis plunged something cold into his arm. As oblivion took him, he saw the inky shadows curl into the corner, a female body shaped and a distorted smile slashed in flames across her face. Scott closed his eyes, felt the warm body that wasn't really there settle at his side, like it had dozens of times before, when Jean had been alive and wondered if any of it would ever stop.

* * *

A/N: For the Marvel Big Bang this story is complete but I am going to continue it at a later date, so no, this is not the actual end. :D


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